


take the glasses off, let your hair down (now you're beautiful)

by alephthirteen



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Activist Kelly, Cheerleader Supergirl, Computer Club Kara, Computer Club Winn, F/F, F/M, Goth Alex, Jock James Olsen, Jock Morgan Edge, References to Teen Movies Used and Overused, Secret Identities are Easier With Cliques, THIS IS BASICALLY A RIPOFF, Teen Sex Comedy AU, The Author Finally Gave In, goth lena, lowercase and (parenthetical) titles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alephthirteen/pseuds/alephthirteen
Summary: There are rumors about the new head cheerleader.  She's so hot everyone just calls her Supergirl.  The one with legs for days, waves of blonde hair for months, perfect skin, blue eyes so bright you'd think they're lasers and a smile that blinds everyone on the football field.  No one's sure which the jealous kids started, which the burnouts started, which the jocks started, which the science nerds started and which the art kids started."No way she's that hot.  Those are like, pudding.""So I heard she's dating this Mon-El guy.  Total loser.""Dude, I heard she like, sneezed and two guysdied.""I heard that something in chemistry class scared her so bad the nearly flew through the ceiling.""You guys are all wrong.  I heard she's...secretly...Kara Danvers.""Get out!  Supergirl is WAY hotter than little Danvers."ORWhat happens when the author clicks on "Not Another Teen Movie" (starring Chyler Leigh) on Netflix and it occurs that Kara taking off her glasses and becoming Supergirl is basically every 'nerd girl got hot' raunchy teen comedy trope in history.ORLena Luthor just wants to get through, get admitted to MIT, and stay in the closet...
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Dramatis Personae - Lena

**Lena**

Second floor, east hallway is, well...a hallway. Seventy-eight feet, nine inches long, twenty lockers to a side, two sides, four classrooms. Gum stuck to every other locker. Smells like jockstrap here and there, half the students haven't heard of deodorant, used condom -- eww -- sticking out of the trash can.

It is, without question, the _least_ interesting place on Earth. 

Leslie slaps her hand into the locker next to Lena's.

"Holyshit," Lena gulps.

"Someone's jumpy today," she teases. "What's up, 'lil black cat?"

Leslie Willis is, as far as Lena knows, the only other girl here who doesn't trip over her own ovaries when the quarterback Morgan Edge walks through (seriously, she'll take the condom now, thanks) and while they've both adhered to the first rule of gay girl handbook and never admitted it, Lena has a Strong Feeling(tm) that Leslie is making out with Gayle Marsh after school. That or Gayle suddenly developed a suspiciously similar LSD habit to Leslie's. The idea that goodest of the good girls, saving herself for Jesus with compound interest Gayle Marsh is doing drugs makes less sense than the idea she's getting a contact high off Leslie's tongue.

Gayle Marsh has all the players on the football team so scared of her that it's like they come up to hit on her and relive the worst moment of their life and run off or curl up into a ball on the floor. Yet she hangs out with _Leslie_ who there's probably a pamphlet warning Christian Teens about at this point.

The details aren't that important. Lena's bestie is in a good mood lately and not high as often as before. About half as often, or maybe it's only half the dose. Her grades will tick up slowly, Lena's confident of that. Leslie Willis is not _dumb_ she's just _horny_ half teh time and _stoned_ a quarter of it and that only leaves a couple of hours a day.

"Tours for new students."

"Oh, yeah? Whos the new meat, Glinda?"

"What?"

"Your eyes are so green. Like, Wicked Witch of the West Green. It's cool but also scary."

Lena scoffs. "Someone is really high. What, Gayle dump you?"

Leslie rolls her eyes. "Nope. She wants to try..." She leans in close. "Mouth stuff. Says it just like that too. All scared and blushy. So hot. All because I made her that way."

Lena snorts.

"I'm not sure it counts as being sexy if you're the first person to tell them sex is a thing."

"Nope, she's going in the book."

"Is there anyone else in the book, Les?"

"The first chapter is important. It's the hook. Ask JK Rowling."

"Hard pass. _Accio_ Twitter block!"

"So? Who are the new kids?"

"Sisters, new in town. Alex and Kara Danvers and something El. Elle Mayarah or something."

Leslie clacks her tongue ring on her lip stud. There's a teensy spark. Fuck this school's crappy air conditioning, seriously. It's so dry in here it's a forest fire hazard. Winn Schott got his shoes stolen and the walk from the locker room to the office built up enough current for a nice electro-revenge on the bully. Knocked win out cold but it was _epic_ and Lena was lucky enough to be in the office to see it.

"Fuck. No kidding? Elle Mayarah?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Leslie sneers.

"Google her when you get home and make sure you've got fresh batteries, hun."

Lena is no _slut._ She doesn't just drop trou at a pretty face, a cute nose and...holy...fucking...shit.

The page finally loaded and she realizes why Leslie warned her.

Elle Mayarah has an Instagram to shame half of the professional models in the world. Finely cut, proud, somehow _classical_ face with the sort of hard, clean lines of cheekbones, jaw and chin that make Lena's brain zip to Cleopatra, young Elizabeth the First, whoever sat for the sculptor of Venus de Milo and just _goddamn_ and this is a headshot, bed covers pulled up to the neck. Cute face, scrunched up in bed, rubbing one eye. Sleepy. Clearly _not_ a faked shot. Her cheeks look sleep-plumped and Disney forest creature cute. The lips are too bright, too shiny but there's also a tube of gloss tangle in the sheets. 

The eyes are so vivid Lena thinks they might have been photoshopped but Lena is a computer nerd and this photo was taken with a fancy-ass camera. She pinches and zooms and zooms and zooms.

They really are that fucking blue, pale and flirting with purple they're so dark. There's no distortion in the white of her eyes _or_ the bottomless, infinite, pure black of the pupils. If that's an edit job, that's a Hollywood VFX guy between jobs because it was done pixel by pixel and that's $100 an hour bare minimum and there's just too damn many for it to be that.

Lena's not sure she's ready for what the next photo might look like because it's captioned

**_'feeling cute, idk, too much sideboob? what do my cape chasers think?'_ **

_Cape chasers are her fans after some blue tux and red cape number at the Met Gala, she soon learns._

Lena hops over to Wikipedia before she can do something too moronic like stuff her left hand in her cunt and try to rub herself to half a dozen messy orgasms and drop her phone in the toilet in the process. 

If she was in the girls, she might risk it but she's in the tiny, gender-neutral bathroom that they added this year. Two stalls. Not kept up as well as the others. Lena and Nia Nal are the only ones who use it, though for different reasons. Nia is such a sweetheart that Lena would _die_ if she found Lena jilling off in here because Lena likes being the one person who treats Nia like a person.

The Mayarahs are a Russian family and they have enough money to crash an airliner if they put it in $100 bills in one place. They are either mobbed-up and dangerously close to Putin _or_ they are billionaire dissidents whose tech firm was dead center of the Russian computer architecture project until they became too western, too interested in the internet as an idea. Mayarah family pictures show up in the New York Times, mostly galas and museum openings. The aunt, Astra looks like her mean face could make the Red Army chop their dicks off before she could. Her mom Alura looks like she belongs in silver and gold robes seated primly in some royal tower, passing judgment on little folks.

Her dad must have been killed by Putin or something because once each April it's **#MissYouDad** **#NeverForget**

They show her flanked by four men the size of refrigerators with apparently both their smiles and their necks surgically removed. There are some captions thanking 'Uncle J'onn' for making her feel so safe.

_Does that explain all her cooking selfies? She can't trust servants not to poison her food?_

Then Lena really fucks up. She checks Twitter.

She's met with a wall of irritatingly non-asshole political tweets from Elle and a realistic, if too wishy-washy take on the extremely wealthy and American politics. She follows most of the right people in politics. Based on the percentage of posts begging for sex and her follower count, that there are roughly 10,000 women trying to use her Twitter to get in her pants. Women who would let her _'break them in half'_ or _'choking kink is a hard pass...with exceptions'_ and quite frankly that's the mild stuff. 

Her DMs must be terrifying.

Elle is also apparently God's gift to the sneaking-into-clubs circuit in Manhattan and the number of tweets saying that **#GrindingOnTheSun** hopped up on Ecstasy is the only thing that'll get them through the rest of the Trump nightmare is frankly disgusting. 

The candids show women with tits more expensive and finely curated than Lionel's beloved Lamborghini trying to fuse themselves into Elle's skin while she gives off a bored vibe. She shows up with Lena's moonshot crush, Andrea Rojas, heir to the clickbait, phone and game console behemoth of Obsidian and there she looks a bit more into it.

In each shot, Elle is tilted back, hand on a woman's hips (woman, two out of three) and showing off her preferred dress, a silver sheath with a slit to where there _should be a thong_ and it's basically chainmail with a black swimsuit under it and _fuck yes that is too much sideboob_ because Lena can tell those are not fake. They're big and they sit proudly but they're not spherical and the quarter-circle of underboob Lena can see in the side shots is the only thing that really seems to be over-the-top in terms of perfectness. Elle's boobs are like a rollercoaster, starting slow below her collarbone and sloping upwards faster and faster, making Lena's eyes water by the time the nipples lift the chain up through the bodysuit and then the sharp swoosh downward after the peak leaves Lena befuddled and wishing it went on longer.

Lena might, she realizes, be a boob girl.

Elle let someone take this picture, giving such a clear silhouette against a strobe light that makes her pop out that some imagination and a charcoal pen would be all Lena needs to re-enact that scene from Titanic. The smile is forced, not touching her eyes and it's still bright and white and toothy and pouty enough to trigger a supermodel's fight or flight reflex. They're famous _now_ but she's coming after them.

The saving grace is that she was brought in as a ringer for NYU's cheerleading team when the existing stable of bottle blonde, plastic-infused Dallas brats weren't cutting it. Lena fucking _hates_ cheerleaders. They tease, mock, hurt her friends and think if she's going to wear so much black, she might as well skip to dying already.

If Lex hadn't beaten her to it with a mix of light terrorism and heavy money laundering, Lena would be the murderer in the family.

A tabloid darling with enough money to _buy up_ every house in a rustbucket town like Midvale is going to be at _her_ crappy high school and expecting her _gay ass_ to give her a tour and two other girls, innocent civilians are going to have to watch the train wreck. 

Elle is even **#LookingForward** to it.

"Well, fuck."

No time like the present to nail her own coffin shut, Lena supposes.

Kara Danvers seems to be a ghost. She only shows up in the school's new student email she got and in two shots on her sister's blog. Her sister's blog gives Lena an entirely _different_ gay panic because Alex is a redhead with a cockscomb haircut and unfair delts and biceps in her workout shots and she is aiming to go into the Army, do a tour and get her medical school paid for. Kara Danvers is no slouch in the baby blues department either, Lena learns from just three photos. Pinning her to the spot in sloppily taken selfies. Her hair is always in a ponytail or a bun. Looks like it needs a nice goth's fingers to let it down and shake it out.

Elle is going to be a shit to be around, Lena just knows it. 

Kara Danvers accompanied her sister to pride and slaps down haters in the comments. Kara Danvers told an admirer of Alex's that if she's afraid her stutter will keep her out of the Marines, Kara 'gets it' and she could try the Peace Corps or Doctors without Borders. Kara Danvers looks like she might make a safe port in a stormy sea of hormones.

Now Lena has to get through an afternoon with a cuddly, spooked-looking baby deer on one side of her during the tour and on the other, this lithe predator with bronze skin and a lion's mane of platinum blonde waves who probably deflowers bicurious heiresses on the reg.

Piece of cake. Worst case is she'll slick up so much she has to get the clit piercing replaced when it falls out.

\-----

Elle is _worse_ than Lena figured. She keeps her right hand in her pocket, meaning that her crimson fingernails -- God, those are _short_ \-- draw attention to the swing of her hips as she walks down the office hallway. She's leaner and slouchy in person and it _works_ better and she even treats Lena to a smile as she folds her shades with a crisp click. Her first words to Lena are

"Goth went out of style in the 2000s but fashion's a kinky bitch. Stuff always comes back."

Lena doesn't process the kinky thrown in until a half-minute later once she gets her head around the smoky, sticky _purr_ that was just poured into her ears.

Alex is no-nonsense, head down, plowing through the paperwork like a bull at a red cape. She stills Kara's bouncing knee with a hand and Kara dips her head and then Alex raises her chin. She spots at Morgan Edge leering at Elle and when he turns his gaze to Kara the look Alex gives is that of someone who has taken a half dozen riflery courses to prepare for basic and she's already figuring out how far back to set up so she can drop Morgan and get away clean.

"Morgan, go fuck the hole you cut in the wall of the girl's locker room," Lena snarls. "Out, out! Damn jizz spot!"

Alex gives a huff that must be a laugh.

Elle's immaculate eyebrow goes high enough it probably triggered alarms on the International Space Station and that made it easier for Lena to see the eyes. Those freeze-to-death-in-water-this-cold blue eyes of hers that make Lena feel like she was just dumped overboard off an ice floe when Elle really makes contact. The eyebrow reminded Lena that her hair is so pale it's silvery blonde but the eyebrows are honey. Lena really _hopes_ that isn't respect in her eyes because Elle was approached by the cheer captain like a suitor on bended knee twelve steps in the front doors and the nod was all Lena needed to know this woman is the enemy. Enemy. Enemy. Enemy. Lena is not going to cream her panties over this woman's eyebrows and Significant Eye Contact(tm) and a voice like a tongue rimming her earlobes.

She _refuses_ to be turned on! Any minute now, she'll get a hold of herself.

Kara makes a tiny, too-quiet giggle and then swallows it down like she's not _allowed to_ and the bull dyke Lena hopes to be when she grows up has already decided that Kara is _hers_ and she's going to wrap her up and make sure she knows she's good enough.

Morgan oozes closer to Elle who puts one hand on his chest to stop him and leans in close. Lena's close enough to hear it too.

"Do you think you do anything for me? I can get behind the wheel and be back in Brooklyn by midnight and have my pick of three Broadway stars and two influencers for GQ on their knees between my thighs. I keep them on fucking speed dial. But I'm sure that hole in the wall has _just_ the right personality," she breathes. "Unless you drilled it too wide."

She clacks her incisors at him loud enough to make him startle and dismisses him with a flick of her fingers.

Kara is red from neck to ears like maybe she heard it too.

"English class?" Elle asks.

 _Classes are a thing here,_ Lena reminds herself. _I'm supposed to take them to classes..._

"Can I see your schedule?"

Elle hands it over and she trails the pads of her fingers along the veins of Lena's wrist and _what the actual fuck_ is happening today?

"Room 403. Fourth floor."

"No elevator?" Elle asks.

"'Fraid not."

She bends down, slides off her glittery heels and tucks them into the strap of her handbag.

"Lead on, witch of the woods."

That's how Lena finds herself trying to remember which hallway is which while walking backward _above_ Elle's scoop-neck top with a variety of snack foods and a lipstick kiss painted on it and her legs long pumping in her tight black jeans as she climbs the steps.

Sitting with them in English how she learns Elle favors Voltaire and Kara likes Sylvia Plath and Toni Morrison and Alex is a Tennyson sort of gay and there's really something to like about each.

Sitting with them in Health, she finds herself realizing that Sex Ed is now at the start of the school year and not the end. Watching Elle take notes in Russian and some other fucking language made of swoopy pictographs at _the same time_ in two neat columns on her notepad, blotting the extra red ink on her raspberry pink tongue is how Lena learns you can't just wish yourself dead.


	2. Dramatis Personae - Elle and Kara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we learn what happens if a slick Russian bombshell touches the wrong rock and we learn that the FSB (formerly the KGB) has apparently never seen "Freaky Friday".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire point of the story is identity, finding friends and people wondering if someone else is kissing the girl/boy that they like. Elle and Kara should probably figure out who they are to each other and soon.

**Elle Mayarah**

The neighborhood is not great _at all_ but Alex seems to be a known quantity and she pulls her windbreaker out of her jeans and people fucking snap to because apparently _they know_ she's got a handgun on her and no one wants to see if they're the quicker draw.

Looping her arm together with Alex's is enough to make three sketchy looking white dudes slink back from Elle and a couple black men playing cards look up at Alex and give her a nod as if to say 'nice work, stud' and Elle can live with that.

There must be some kind of treaty among the various gangs that _Kara is sacred_ because she doesn't get so much as a glance.

The Danvers' house is quaint. A small brick townhouse of the sort that got raised in endless rows in the Baltimore area back in the day. Three floors stacked close together. The front door is a magic portal between urban decay and professorial untidiness and overindulgence, bookshelves and art from all six continents with humans on them. Notepads everywhere. An old school doctor's bag in the hallway.

Kara is untouched because Eliza Danvers is the only healthcare these people get, Elle realizes and not every 'hood has an Ivy League expert in neurosurgery camped out here, semi-retired. One of the neighborhood matriarchs is at the kitchen table, praying in Spanish whenever Eliza lifts the stethoscope.

She tells her that her lungs sound drier now, assures her that is a good thing and suggests a doctor who specializes in this rather than her, who is winging it based on her long-ago residency and calling in favors. The woman starts crying. She didn't catch it.

Elle repeats it in Spanish, blow for blow. She has too much Barcelona in the accent and not enough Honduras in it but the old lady turns to her, eyes wide, and then gives her a quick thank-you nod.

"What?" Elle chortles.

She leans back to Alex.

"Have you _been_ to Rio? Juicy. Marbled. Prime. Womanflesh on the hoof, my friend. Can't get one peeled off the pack if you can't make the right bird call."

"That's Portuguese," Kara points out. "Brazil."

" _Si_ but Buenos Aires is even better."

She puts a hand on Kara's shoulder.

"We'll get through this," she promises. "Astra will figure out a mineral that can reverse it and we can figure out what to do."

"Is it bad I don't want to?" Kara asks.

"Kin-" she inhales sharply. "I so-"

"Take your time," Alex murmurs.

Kara swallows, balls her fists, and finally screws up enough courage to speak.

"Kinda like it. Wish it hadn't split _all of the courage_ off but I didn't get asked."

Elle nods.

"I think maybe I do too. Courage is something you can learn, doll. Sorry about the whole amnesia thing."

Kara shrugs.

"At least I wasn't _cold_ in the snow."

They show her around. There's a closet on the left of the front door, big enough for two coats each. The stairs are not two steps inside, a nod to the fact that the home is stacked more than it is spread out. Kitchen and parlor on the first floor. Eliza's bedroom and bath on the second. Alex's bedroom on the third along with a small bathroom with an honest-to-Rao clawfoot tub, a cozy study with three desks, one empty and waiting for her. The fourth is two adjacent bedrooms and a tiny bath, one for Kara and one for her and the closet's rear wall has been punched through so they have a private door between them. The attic is a marvel. Big windows, a small fireplace. Half has been done up in fairy lights and beanbags and not-yet-worn in hoodies of Kara's and half a prim, right-angles-only workshop and workout space for Alex. Elle is happy to dig into her other self's aesthetic, she assures them and she never says no to free weights.

Hard to believe Kara's only been her own person for seven weeks. Elle has become so used to thinking of Kara as a stranger, she wonders if she has a crush on this sweater and mom jeans-wearing, shy, clumsy nerd with a singing voice she certainly was _not_ gifted with, doe eyes and a smile that's worth hours of teasing and joking to uncover.

The back yard is twenty by thirty feet at most, big enough for a garden, a tree and the doghouse for Krypto. He's still busy snuffling along every blade of grass one at a time and scratching at his flight inhibitor collar like he thinks he can get it off.

He sees Elle and barks and lunges and then he grabs her wrist and drags her towards Kara. He plops himself down on his haunches as his fat, fluffy tail thumps from side to side. 

"Yes, she's like your mom, isn't she?" Elle jokes. "Good dog."

**BARK!**

In the process of sneaking Kara out, they crashed a family plane near where Kara was found (complete with cadaver from the morgue), snatched Kara and swapped Elle in. Her job was to convince them that it was too _dangerous_ to hold Elle Mayarah given who her mother was and what their company meant for the Motherland. Whatever they _thought_ had happened to her memories had worn off and in fact, she bleeds when she gets a papercut. Bleeds all over her gently glowing crystalline bracelet in fact.

All in their heads.

In the process of sneaking Kara out, they managed to fool fingerprint tests, FSB interviewers, infrared cameras at the border, even spoof a DNA test to give cover for Kara's eyesight, controlled-substance period painkillers, the experimental birth control Eliza got them, and a dietary note. Krypto was never fooled. They had to send him ahead to the US keep him from playing fetch and showing the spooks how good he was at finding people he liked.

Elle had to Kara listen to cry herself to sleep and felt so sorry for her that her bad mood depleted the Kryptonite in the bracelet before they even landed at Heathrow.

* * *

**Kara Danvers**

Elle seems happy to be here. 

Alex seems okay with it but getting a new sister and then a houseguest for maybe-forever is a lot to ask. Alex is sister material for sure. 

Kara isn't sure. She doesn't _remember_ anything except waking up naked, being dragged into a military base and forced to test her abilities. She's not even sure how long it was until a woman in a black ski mask and a soldier's uniform snuck into her room, shushed her and took off the mask.

 _"I'm...a friend. Let's get you out of here,"_ Elle had told her.

Alex is her home. Elle is this _being_ who glides and struts and touches people gently on the hand and says soft, sticky-voiced things and maybe not being interested in dating _Alex_ means that one out of two means she's not such a terrible person.

It's Elle Mayarah for god's sake! Famously hot pansexual who took a year to 'discover' herself in a globe-trotting, well-photographed tour. Elle is twenty now and is only in high school because of the difficulty in getting records from St. Petersburg. Kara's records were mangled to match and the excuse was severe emotional trauma pausing her education and that was diabolical of Eliza because it means the University of Maryland professor who is the leading authority on the formation of personality is her therapist and the school district pays the bill.

Elle gets thirst tweeted by Cara Delevingne and Kristen Stewart and yet she shows up to a sketchy diner in the Bronx to check in on Kara, eat greasy burgers and laugh at Kara discovering puppy memes. 

How was Kara supposed to _not_ feel first-date flutters? Can you be someone's sister if you don't remember growing up with them? If your first memory of them is being a damsel in distress and a pale hand reaching out to take yours and save your life?

Alex spotted Kara's gay immediately and it also became clear that one doesn't engage in queer internet without running across Elle over and over. It's a bit unfair to make Kara act like she's _blind_ when she only wears the glasses until she can get control of her vision. 

Kara locks the door, flops back on her bed and lets all the air in her lungs out. This is going to be a weird year.

There's a neatly wrapped package on the other pillow.

"Huh?"

She grabs her scissors and carefully gets it open.

Inside is a black box with gold lettering and inside _that_ is a velvet bag with a stainless steel something in it. Kara touches a small flat dent on the curve in the middle and it buzzes to life, jumping out of her hand and skittering along the hardwood.

There's a note too.

 _Don't take this the wrong way Kara but if you're shaped anything like me, that thing is a perfect fit for the little spot inside. You know the one..._  
  
"Fuck," Kara mumbles. "My mirror image bought me a vibrator?"

Kara snatches it back up.

She decides isn't going to fantasize about Elle. Bridge too far.

That goth though, with the eyes green as rainy spring grass? She thinks it was Lena? Kara was busy shoving a panic attack back in the box all day. She could _look_ at Lena or listen but not _both_ and she chose to look.

Kara doesn't have homework tonight anyway...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't really a superhero story. The powers were left in mostly for gag purposes (Livewire pranking people, etc.) and so that Lena can gradually be all 'what the actual fuck is going on' as it gets weird.
> 
> The idea here is that the Russian Kara came first, having landed with Astra and Alura after her father perished to protect their escape from Krypton. One day, an oligarch's son she was stringing along tries to buy his way into her pants. He buys her a black necklace with a strange stone that 'fell from the sky' and it's Harun-El. Enter Kara, who has no memories past eight weeks ago, command of basics like use of chopsticks to grab potstickers and mastery of deeply-ingrained skills like dancing, Russian and other languages Elle knew and **that's it**. No favorite book, no favorite movie, no favorite foods. A personality and sense of how she wants to live life but no idea how she got that sense of who she is because it's not Elle's worldview. More a person being introduced to life for the first time than a truly blank slate. This author does not believe in Born Sexy Yesterday. 
> 
> Through family connections, Astra learns that the KGB has captured a powerful, confused woman in the far reaches of Siberia.
> 
> Rather than let an innocent, shy girl be raised by Putin's thugs, they pull up roots for New York, stashing Kara with the Danvers.
> 
> Elle retains her playgirl lifestyle but after the split, she finds herself more confident, more interested in drinking, dancing, and sex, and more eager to take risks. Kara on the other hand is meeker, shyer and timider than anyone Ele ever met. She is a member of House of El and if needs be, they will move to a run-down house in Maryland and go to ordinary American High School together.


End file.
